


Enough

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beaches, Body Positivity, F/M, Fluff, Greece, Light Angst, Meet-Cute, Snogging, Snorkeling, Time Travel, but not at the same time, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: Peter lay back in the sand, his sides hurting from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. His day began with an irritated trek down the beach, which he only took to get away from his sodding family, and ended with a mild concussion and snogging an unnamed witch… on a muggle beach, no less.He wasn’t certain any of his friends would even believe him.orPeter Pettigrew stumbles (both accidentally and literally) upon a witch on a beach in Greece, not knowing much she might change the course of his life.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Peter Pettigrew
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64
Collections: Marauders on Tour





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Marauders_on_Tour](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Marauders_on_Tour) collection. 



> This bit of fluff was written for **Marauders On Tour** hosted by [The Marauders Guild](https://www.facebook.com/groups/938634943238719/). My prompt was a beachy meet-cute and this is what came from that. :)
> 
> Huge thanks to [cecemarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecemarty/pseuds/cecemarty%22) for being an amazing alpha and friend.

Peter may have agreed to vacation with his family in Greece, but that didn’t mean he had to be around them every  _ bloody _ moment of the day. His mother, father, and younger sister were somewhere off in the Ionian sea on a fishing expedition with one of the locals, but he had elected to stay behind. 

He loved his family, but he needed a break. 

The weather was temperate and the sun was shining; truly, it was a beautiful day—though most days in Greece seemed to be beautiful. The sun and the sweet smelling wind were a far cry from the constant fog and rain that usually blanketed London. Merchants in the nearby market could be heard shouting over the crash of the waves upon the shore whilethe birds called and sang as they flew through the air, but Peter heard none of it. He ambled over the sand, hands thrust into his pockets, thoroughly consumed by his own thoughts. 

He was on a beautiful island filled with beautiful women and all he could think about were his three friends back home. James was married and settling into life with Lily. Sirius had joined the Aurors, and Remus was doing as much as his affliction allowed, even working at a small muggle shoppe and doing reconnaissance for the Order. Peter joined up when the rest of his friends did, of course—hadn’t really had a choice in the matter, but he’d pledged his oath just the same as everyone else. 

Deep down, Peter knew he lacked courage. He could try and put on a brave face, but he turned tail at the first sign of danger, which made him an exceptionally poor soldier, and everyone seemed to know, though no one said anything. 

He hated it. 

All of his life, he’d been the butt of everyone’s jokes. He was too chubby or his face was broken out with acne or his teeth were crooked. When he’d first met James, Sirius, and Remus, they seemed like the epitome of cool and  _ somehow _ , they had adopted him into their fold and called him brother. 

Growing up with those three had been a whirlwind of adventure, pranks, and complicated magic he was proud he managed to master. He finally felt like he belonged somewhere but now... he questioned all of that.

Always feeling as though he was on the fringes, as if  _ they _ were a family and he was  _ almost _ one of them… but not quite. 

Magically, he knew they were quicker and stronger than he was at duelling, but he could hold his own when needed. He’d managed to become an animagus, for Merlin’s sake, and he’d achieved several N.E.W.T.S., but these accomplishments never seemed to be enough for him. Peter wanted more, craved some kind of recognition— _ power _ even, but no matter what he found himself capable of, somehow someone always overshadowed him. 

And Peter Pettigrew wasn’t certain he was content to live his life in the shadows any longer. 

Alecto Carrow had taken to hanging around the small wizarding village his family had called home for generations, and while he should have told someone in the Order, he hadn’t. 

She wore these low-cut muggle dresses with a high hemline and flirted with him as if he were worth something. She always pulled away with a giggle before he could kiss her, dropping hints about the Dark Lord here and there when she wasn’t playing at being a tart. Everything she cooed in his ear always seemed to make him feel good about himself and make him want to turn to somewhere or someone where he might be worth something. Where he might be accepted on his own merits and not those of his friends.

Where he might—

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted when he abruptly found himself with a face full of sand and what felt like a broken nose from the impact of falling forward. 

A high feminine gasp came from somewhere off to his left as he groaned into the coarse sand beneath him, before spitting out the tiny granules that managed to coat his tongue. A small hand came to rest on his arm as he sputtered, doing his damndest to get the rest of the sand out of his mouth, even going so far as to huff a breath out of his nose to dislodge the bits that were stuck in there, as well. 

“Are you okay?” The sweet sound of a woman’s voice filled his ears. Her accent was posh and pretty, much the same as his own and as he attempted to right himself, the sight of her nearly took his breath away. Bronzed skin glinted in the sunlight bringing out the smattering of freckles dotting her cheeks beneath a pair of dark aviators. A tumble of curls was pulled up onto the top of her head and secured haphazardly with an elastic and  _ Merlin be damned _ if she wasn’t wearing one of those muggle swimming costumes that revealed entirely too much skin—his mother’s words, not his. 

“Are you real?” The words tumbled out of his mouth as he blinked up at her, and he immediately felt completely daft for saying something so ridiculous that he ducked his chin to hide his embarrassment.

“As real as the day is long.” A pretty laugh left her lips, though Peter missed the way she smiled down at him from where she stood. He nearly shivered when her fingers brushed against his brow. “You’ve got a pretty nasty gash above your eyebrow. Do you want me to call a cab to take you to hospital?” 

He shook his head but immediately regretted doing so, dizziness overwhelming him and clouding his vision as the world spun around him. He grasped her hand to steady himself as he croaked out, “No thanks, I can patch myself up.” 

It wouldn't be pretty, and it would probably scar… but he could cast at least a few healing charms on himself until he could raid the potions stores his mother had packed. 

He barely caught sight of the frown on her lips as his eyes blinked slowly. “I think you’ll need stitches, you should really—”, the woman paused, bending at the waist and Peter followed the line of her arm to where her hand eased his wand out of the sand, being careful not to touch it too much as she brushed the sand away from it. 

The woman crouched down beside him, her knees sinking into the sand before she leaned close to his ear. “If you walk with me just beneath the pier, I can heal it for you. None of the muggles will see, but I can’t do it out here in the open.” The feel of her warm breath ghosting over his ear made Peter shiver and she must have thought it was from something else because she wrapped one arm around his shoulders. 

When he finally looked up at her again, she had pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head and the colour of her eyes reminded him of the cognac his father was so fond of. 

And Peter desperately wanted a drink. 

Her lips pursed and she looked down on him with concern etched across her features. “Is that okay? I don’t mean to be presumptuous.” 

Peter blinked, finally pulled back into reality when he felt a trickle of blood run down his face from the gash above his eyebrow. His eyes flicked over the sand and saw the remnants of a glass bottle, a small bit of his blood staining the green glass. “Yes, um… thank you.” 

He attempted to brush the sand off of his clothing after the young witch helped him to stand up. “Do you mind if I―” She gestured down where his wand was still half-buried in the sand. 

Oh. 

Normally, he wouldn’t allow anyone to touch his wand. It just wasn't something that was done, but as he didn’t fancy leaning back down and causing another rush of blood to his head, he slowly nodded. “Yeah, it’s okay. If you don’t mind that is.” 

Peter watched her bend, gracefully plucking the wand out of the sand before she pressed it into his hand with a sweet smile. “I had to use someone else's wand for once. That one tried to shock me every time I picked it up, but yours just hummed in my hand a bit.” 

The realization hit him. 

“Oh shite, did I hurt you when I tripped?” 

She laughed, turning to pull a cover-up over her swimsuit much to Peter’s dismay. “Not at all,” she said as she gestured towards a bit of driftwood on the beach. “You tripped over that and down you went. I expect you’ll feel much better once we get that gash taken care of.” 

Peter frowned. Had he really been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t seen the large bit of wood she pointed out? 

“Yeah… everything is a bit muddled.” 

“You might have a mild concussion. I can check when we’re out of sight of the muggles.” She began to lead him towards the fisherman-lined pier that jutted out into the ocean. 

Peter tucked his wand and hands back into his pockets as they walked. “Are you a Healer or something?” 

“I’m considering training to be one. Where I—” she paused, looking as though she was carefully contemplating her words, “—used to live, knowing a few healing spells came in handy.” 

He cracked a smile for the first time, “Guess it’s my lucky day then.” 

“Perhaps,” she laughed, grasping his hand and pulling him below the pier and behind several large boulders that were far enough away from the incoming surf that they wouldn’t get wet unless they stayed there until the tide came in. 

Peter leaned back against one of the boulders, his light brown hair falling forward when he bent forward slightly to give her access to the cut on his forehead. He closed his eyes in a bid to stop the world from spinning as the shift in his posture made the dizziness return. He felt the brush of her magic as a diagnostic charm was cast and she rattled off the information. 

“Everything looks normal save for a small concussion, but a few basic healing spells and you should be right as rain, as long as you don’t try and run a marathon or anything in the next hour or two.” 

He chuckled and his eyes blinked open. “Look like I run marathons, do I?” 

The witch shrugged her shoulders and reached up to brush the fallen hair away from the gash, “Healthy comes in many different shapes and sizes. Who am I to tell you what you can and can’t do?”

It was the first time Peter had heard anything of the sort. He’d been teased for his weight, not that he was the size of an Erumpent or anything, but he certainly carried a  _ few _ extra pounds which were made more evident by his stocky build. He’d never been muscular like James and Remus or lean like Sirius—another thing that made him stand out from his group of friends, though not always in a good way. 

“I don’t think I’ll be running any marathons anytime soon.” 

The tip of her wand touched his forehead, just above the gash as her fingers threaded into his hair to keep it pushed back. She smiled at him, something teasing and sweet that he wasn’t accustomed to seeing directed at him. “Me either. This might sting a bit.” 

It stung. Bloody fuck did it sting, but he grit his teeth as she sang the quiet, haunting melody of the healing spell and he felt his skin knit back together. A few more incantations, the one that made him feel like a bit of ice had been pressed to his forehead made him swear out loud, and she pronounced him healed.

“I siphoned off as much of the blood as I could, but you’ll need some water and a bit of soap to get the rest. Or you know, a dip in the ocean.” 

Perhaps it was the feel of her hand in his hair, or the cognac colour of her eyes, or even the fact that he was mildly concussed, but when Peter’s hand settled on her bicep and he leaned down to meet her lips with his, the world finally stopped spinning.

And she didn’t pull back. 

His lips pillowed against her soft full lips again and again, and when Peter finally broke away from the chaste kisses, only then did he realise that in that moment his arms had enveloped the witch and she was pressed against his front. She was a tiny thing, the top of her head barely reaching his nose, not that he was particularly tall himself, but the way she fit into his arms was unexpected. 

A pretty blush coloured her cheeks and judging from the heat in his, they matched. 

He’d kissed girls before, of course he had. He and Mary McDonald dated for nearly a year and had done quite a bit  _ more _ than kissing, but he’d never kissed one unsolicited  _ Gods _ , she must think him a right cad. He didn’t even know her name or anything about her, apart from she was very pretty, probably didn’t run in marathons, and knew more healing spells than he did. 

“I’m sorry, I—”

“No, no! It’s okay, really.” 

“—shouldn’t have. I swear I don’t just go around kissing witches.” 

The moment her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, he was lost. “No, um. I… I liked it.” 

Oh. 

“Not that I, um… go around kissing wizards or anything.” It was adorable the way she shifted on her feet, though their hands had yet to leave each other's bodies. 

And he couldn’t resist. 

Peter took a single step forward, closing the small space between their bodies and captured her lips once more. He drank in the sweet sounds she made as their lips parted and tongues sought one another, twining together in a tentative dance. Her fingers left his hair and he felt her palms press against his stubble-coated cheeks as his own hands curled around the thick of her hips. 

There was something soft and delicate, but also desperate in the way she held his mouth against her own as her teeth nipped at his lower lip. He growled, tugging her hips forward, one hand sliding up to her back as he tilted her back slightly in a bid to regain control. Her arms dropped around his shoulders and she took a step backwards, only to lose her footing and send them both tumbling into the sand below. 

The sounds of their laughter mingled with the waves crashing on the shore and the unintelligible chatter of the fishermen above them on the pier. 

Peter lay back in the sand, his sides hurting from laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. His day began with an irritated trek down the beach, which he only took to get away from his sodding family, and ended with a mild concussion and snogging an unnamed witch… on a muggle beach, no less. 

He wasn’t certain any of his friends would even believe him. 

“What’s so funny?” she asked, as she sat up and pulled the elastic out of her curls to shake out the sand. The tumble of curls that fell around her shoulders was a deep chestnut color and Peter’s fingers itched to find out if they were as soft as they looked. 

“I don’t even know your name.” 

A brief flash of hesitation crossed her features that made Peter’s stomach twist as he balanced back on his elbows before hoisting himself up into a sitting position. 

He would  _ very _ much like to see her again, if she would let him. Alecto Carrow might parade around in her short dresses and tell him exactly what he wanted to hear… but there was something about this witch that seemed...

Wholesome, perhaps. 

Something good, like sunlight giving warmth and light to the world even in darkness through its reflection off of the moon. 

“Hermione.” 

He held his hand out, a pleased feeling bubbling up in his chest when she accepted the gesture. “I’m Peter.” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It was quickly apparent to Peter that Hermione embodied all of the traits of his Hogwarts house that he lacked. Even though she said she attended Ilvermorny over in the ‘States, she admitted that  _ Hogwarts: A History _ was one of her favourite books and knew many intricate details about the school he had attended. 

While Peter was certainly capable of chivalry, his penchant for bravery, daring, and nerve was rather lacking. He found that out when Hermione tugged him down the beach after they snogged under the pier and pressed a pair of muggle goggles and a snorkel into his hands. 

Peter turned the unfamiliar items over in his hands before tugging on one of the little rubbery plastic straps. “...and this is for?” 

“Swimming.” The nonchalant way she uttered the word as she quickly packed her things made him instantly suspicious. 

He cast his eyes over her body, the cover-up she wore over her muggle swimming costume barely coming to the tops of her thighs. “What you’re wearing is for swimming, these—” he held out the goggles and snorkel to her, “―are reminiscent of a torture device I once found off in Filch’s office.” 

She laughed, a sweet sound he was quickly learning he enjoyed hearing, as she folded her beach towel and shoved it into a small, beaded bag that shouldn’t have been able to hold more than a handful of galleons and maybe her sunglasses. “What were you doing in Filch’s office?” 

Peter held the glasses up to his eyes and blinked owlishly as he peered through them, missing the way Hermione’s breath caught and her posture grew rigid. “Helping James. Filch nicked his dungbombs and I was the sma—the best at breaking into small spaces, y’know… offices and the like.” 

She stood from where she was kneeling in the sand and brushed the coarse granules from her knees. “Sounds like you were a bit of a mischief-maker.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “My mates were. I was just always sort of… there, you know?” 

Hermione nodded, “My best friends were always getting into trouble for this or that, though I did get into a fair amount of mischief myself.” 

“Oh, do tell.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she smacked him on the arm with her hand, but Peter couldn’t help but laugh. Teasing her was turning out to be too much fun. 

“Nothing like that!” She tugged the sunglasses down from her hair and put them back in their rightful place, covering the pretty brown colour of her eyes, though they did nothing to hide the pink blush colouring her cheeks.

She changed the subject back to the item in Peter’s hand. “Anyway, you and I are going snorkeling.” 

“Pardon?” 

With a wave of her hand, she gestured vaguely to the bright blue water on the horizon, the waves cresting and lapping at the shore. “You know, snorkeling? Swimming just at the surface of the water and looking at the pretty fish and reefs and such.”

A horrified look crossed Peter’s face and he glanced between Hermione and the very large, very danger-infested ocean. “People do that? For fun?” 

She nodded, “They do. Our sort typically uses a bubblehead charm or perhaps gillyweed, but there are too many muggles around for that.” She reached into her small bag and pulled out a set similar to the one Peter held in his hand, holding it out proudly. “So, goggles and a snorkel.” 

“I don’t know, Hermione…” Peter was a decent swimmer in a regular pool, but the thought of purposefully swimming near wildlife just to admire them didn’t sit well with him. He’d never once set foot into the Black Lake during his time at Hogwarts, no matter how much Moony and Padfoot prodded him to take a dip. “What if there are sharks or kelpies or something?” 

Her hands fell to her hips, the goggles smacking against her thigh, and her brows lifted above her sunglasses, “The sharks—they’re mostly harmless smaller ones… and you’ve a wand, do you not?” 

His eyes flicked to where it was still lodged in his pocket. “Yeah?” 

“Then you’ll be fine!” Her small hand slipped into his and she tugged him towards the shore. “Let’s go!” 

Peter was not fine. 

The gentle waves lapped around his body and the muggle swimsuit she’d covertly transfigured from his shorts kept riding up uncomfortably, but he supposed the seabeds with their multicoloured anemones and meadows of seagrass were rather nice. Colorful fish with reflective scales swam in schools through the seabeds, often chased by turtles or the occasional octopus. 

When a small basking shark made an appearance in the distance, clearly trying to decide if chasing a school of fish was worth it, Peter froze. A brush of magic tingled over his skin before Hermione’s hand grasped his own, and he realized she had erected a shield charm around them. He saw the lift of her cheeks and knew she was attempting a reassuring smile, no matter how difficult the snorkel in her mouth made that. Peter attempted to smile back and squeezed her hand in thanks. 

Meeting her might have been one of the best experiences of his life, something akin to when he became friends with Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs. He might have made a fool of himself upon their initial introduction and subsequently when he kissed her out of the blue, but she didn’t seem to mind that he was a bit of a mess. Peter got the impression she found his bumbling ways a bit endearing, though she never made him feel inferior or as if he were in someone’s shadow in the few days they had known one another. Alecto may have whispered exactly what he thought he wanted to hear in his ear, but she had also sowed the seeds of doubt within him—feeding him little comments about how his friends had moved on and that Peter was capable of so much more, and didn’t he want  _ power,  _ to be somewhere he  _ belonged _ ? 

Hermione never said anything of the sort. She was kind and seemed content to just wander the island with him eating souvlaki or grabbing a sweet flavoured shaved ice. Even if it was only a brief summer fling, since he was due to return to England in a few days, he hoped they might at least stay friends. Peter had a feeling that she would fit right in with his own little group and wondered if she had plans to return to England as well. Even though they had spoken little about where they were from, it was clear from her accent that she had grown up in the southern part of his own little island.

Having such a pretty girl walking at his side, especially one who seemed genuinely interested in him, did wonders for his self-esteem. She was like the bright, shining star breaking through the clouds of darkness that had been hanging over him all summer. 

It was clear she was a creature of the sun, always basking in the warm glow shining down over the little Greek island. Despite his intense dislike for sand (and muggle swimming costumes), Peter found himself more often than not, laying beneath the shade of an umbrella on one of the island’s many beaches with the witch tucked into his side as he sketched. It was a pastime he had forgone in recent years in favour of making mischief with his mates, but he was pleased to find his skills weren’t quite as rusty as he thought they were. 

And so, as Hermione’s fingers drew through the sand while she read whatever book she had brought that day, Peter sketched. Sometimes it was the ocean, other times it was intricate spell matrices and for once in his life, Peter felt content to simply  _ be _ . 

No one pressured him to be anything other than who he was or do anything he was uncertain of, save for the snorkeling which ultimately he had enjoyed.

They’d done little more than snogging, just brushing against the edges of heavy petting, but the moments where he could simply sit quietly with Hermione beneath the sun were turning out to be something he craved when they parted each evening, always agreeing to meet up again the next morning as soon as he was free of familial obligations.

“I never asked, are you visiting or do you live here?” Peter asked, brushing the pads of his fingers over the sun-warmed skin of her bare shoulder. They were tucked together beneath an umbrella on a small beach chair with Hermione sitting back against his chest, an ever-present book in her lap, and his own sketchbook and pencils discarded in the sand.

“I guess you could say that I am a  _ temporary _ citizen.”

He looked at her quizzically, though he knew she couldn’t see his expression. “Temporary?” 

“When I decided to leave… the ‘States, I came here and well, I haven’t exactly left. I’ve been thinking about going to Australia, but I don’t particularly fancy going back to England.” 

Peter hummed, brushing her curls over her other shoulder so he could press his lips against the cluster of freckles he’d been tracing idly with his fingers. “Why not?” 

His arm snaked around her waist and he tugged her back against him fully, though she felt somewhat stiff in his arms, as if she were nervous. “It’s complicated… sort of. Well, I’ve heard about what’s  _ going on _ … and, well. I don’t want to interfere or get involved really.” 

“I don’t know that things are all that bad.” Sure, there had been a few incidents here and there that he’d heard about in the Order. Muggles going missing and the like, but that happened all of the time in that society, or so he’d been led to believe. What was one or two muggles gone when there were still millions of them out there? He wasn’t certain there were even a million witches and wizards to be found across the entire globe. 

“Not all that—” She whipped around to stare at him with wide, incredulous eyes, curls bouncing and settling over her shoulders with the force of the movement. “Murdering muggles, kidnapping  _ Muggleborns _ , and blowing up bridges in broad daylight, isn’t  _ that bad _ ?” 

Peter frowned, his hands coming to rest against the curve of her hips. He was having a difficult time grasping why she was so upset. Sure, Lily was a Muggleborn but she wasn’t an exception, wasn’t she? If he listened to anything Alecto Carrow had cooed in his ear, it was that he should feel superior because he was a pureblood wizard since Muggleborns stole their magic, turning proper pureblood children into squibs, though he wasn’t certain he believed a word of it. 

“Hermione…” 

“No.” Gods, she looked right furious. Her eyes shone and her lips pursed and Peter felt like he should shrink back, cower and run back to the safety of the nest like the form his animagus took. “There’s something you need to see.” 

Her gaze fell to her arm and with a slow pass of her hand, a string of ugly raised letters were revealed, removing a complicated glamour charm he hadn’t known was there. She held her arm out for him to see, fury and anguish sparking in her brown eyes. “This, Peter.  _ This _ is what Death Eaters do to Muggleborns.”

He stared down at the word, the disbelief that flooded through his body was quickly replaced by anger. This witch—this beautiful and extremely skilled witch had been marked with a slur he hadn’t even heard until Snape hurled it at Lily during their sixth year. It was jagged and ugly, the skin around each letter puckered and red… the entirety of it was grotesque and unfathomable in such a way that he couldn’t avert his gaze. 

Another pass of her hand revealed another dark pink scar from what must have been a cut along her neck. She tilted her head to the side and closed her eyes, her scars on display. “They pin you to the ground and cast unforgivables on you and when you don’t break, they carve hatred into your arms and taunt you with their ability to take away your life with a cursed blade to your throat.” 

A thick silence passed between them, heavy and viscous despite the bright rays of the sun overhead. Each word Hermione spoke crept under his skin and through his veins until his mind was consumed with disgust for each and every  _ lie _ he knew Alecto Carrow had cooed in his ear. 

Peter slowly wrapped his arms around Hermione, feeling the evidence of her quiet tears on his bare chest when he pulled her close. “I… I didn’t know.  _ Bloody fuck,  _ Hermione, I am so sorry.” 

She sniffled, wiping the back of her hand over her cheek. 

“Is this why you don’t want to return to England?” 

She nodded, “Among other things.” 

Other things? What else could have possibly happened to her in England that she was  _ this _ hesitant to return? He may have only known this witch for a handful of days, but he already felt protective of her, something he’d never felt before when it came to a witch. There were no labels on whatever was happening between them, but it stirred something within him. It might have been the first time in his life where he felt as though he might muster the courage to stand up for what was right, even if that meant telling Alecto to buzz off and take her recruitment elsewhere and face whatever wrath the Death Eaters might bring down upon him. 

It was something he suspected was coming, being offered a place amongst the Dark Lord’s ranks, and before he came to Greece, it was something he might have considered. He felt like an outsider, like he was just a mousy boy who happened to have fallen in with the right crowd… but now? It was as if something had shifted inside of him. The thought of Lily or Mary or any of their other classmates being subjected to  _ torture _ simply because of their parentage (or lack thereof) seemed absurd. It turned his stomach to think of what Hermione had gone through and caused a small burst of bravery to crackle in his chest that made him want to stand up for  _ what was right _ for once… and not just do what was easy. 

To follow his own path, not one someone else had set for him. 

“Will you tell me?” His voice was quiet as he rubbed soothing circles over her back, and his head tilted to rest his cheek against her curls. 

She remained quiet and he took her lack of response at face value. 

“Hermione, what happens when I have to leave in a few days?” 

She flattened her hands against his chest and pressed back, and while his arms were no longer threaded around her, his hands lingered at her waist. She smiled at him with hope in her red-rimmed eyes. 

“I think that depends on you, Peter Pettigrew.” 

“I never told you my last name.” 

The realization washed over him like cold water, as jarring as it was unexpected. He may have known the taste of her mouth and the curve of her waist, but Peter did not know her surname. It was one piece of information they had yet to exchange. It had seemed neither important nor necessary when they met and in over the past few days, it had yet to come up. Logically, he knew he might need it if they were to write to one another once he left Greece and he planned to ask her for it later… but he had never expected Hermione to know who he was. 

“You didn’t have to.” Her teeth sunk into her lower lip and he resisted the urge to pull it free. 

“Are you purposefully speaking in riddles?” 

Hermione shook her head, shifting in his lap to face him more easily, but she didn’t pull away from him, and Peter was too stunned to pull away from her. 

“I don’t know if you would even believe me if I told you.” 

A heavy breath left his chest, and he dragged a hand across his face before he leveled his gaze on her. “Try me.” 

He expected something— _ anything _ other than the tale she spun. An accident with a time turner. Fleeing Britain so she didn’t inadvertently change the future. Realizing who he was when he’d accidentally mentioned his friends by their nicknames the day before when they watched the sun set on the horizon. Being tortured in  _ 1998 _ while on the run. Nearly twenty years passing before the war currently brewing was finally won.

It was impossible and yet, the way she told her story in quiet tones and a serious glint in her eye made it, at the very least, plausible. 

“And I may have mucked everything up by even showing up here today… but—” 

“You were just going to disappear?” 

“The thought crossed my mind, but I made my choice. You have so much  _ potential _ , Peter.” 

Everything Hermione had revealed spun through his mind. She knew his future. She knew what his role in everything would be and even though she hadn’t revealed it, the look in her eyes spoke volumes. The hurt he found there told him everything she needed to know and he knew he may as well have been the person who carved the ugly slur into her arm.

It made him sick to his stomach.

“But now you have a choice to make. I know they’re recruiting you. They have to be.” 

She wasn’t wrong, but… “I don’t know that I’m strong enough to make the right decision.”

Small hands cupped his stubbled cheeks and she pulled his gaze back to her own. “You are brave enough, strong enough, _daring_ enough to make the right choice, and I believe in you. _You_ _are_ enough, Peter, and that is something no one can take away from you.”

He stayed silent, not knowing what to say nor what to do. He wanted to believe her, he did… but if they threatened him, or threatened his family… would he cave to their demands or he would he stand his ground? If history served… 

He didn’t want to think about it. 

Slowly, Hermione shifted out of his lap and tucked her book into her beaded bag.

Peter caught her by the hand. “Where are you going?” 

She gave him a sad smile as her hand curled around his. “Come find me when you make the right choice, Peter. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.” 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

It was a particularly warm day on the island, but Hermione didn’t mind the feel of the sun upon her skin and the sweet-scented wind as it wafted over her favourite part of the beach. She kept her eyes closed as she bathed in the warmth of the sun, avoiding scanning the horizon for any sign of the man she suspected had been unable to make the right decision. 

It simply meant that time was cyclical and nothing she said, did, or didn’t do could change what was to happen. 

Still, a small part of her hoped. 

Hope was a dangerous thing. A small flickering flame that could be doused in an instant. Dreams of a future where Harry grew up with his parents and Neville’s mother and father were renowned Aurors, where the Prewett twins took on their nephews as apprentices and Mad-Eye Moody was neither mad nor had a glass eye flooded through her mind since the moment she walked away from Peter Pettigrew. 

When she’d managed to crash back in time, she immediately left London. To stay was to risk changing the future and while the war would not be won for twenty or more years and hundreds, if not thousands would perish… she at least knew that victory was inevitable. 

The worst part of the entire thing was that she  _ missed him _ . 

He was nothing like the man she remembered meeting during her third year. The man who was more rat than wizard, disheveled, and simultaneously terrified and terrifying. The loyal servant who was responsible for bringing the Dark Lord back from his half-life. 

No. 

The Peter she knew was not that man. 

And each day since she’d left him on that beach, refusing to look back yet promising to remain, was akin to torture simply because she knew what would become of him if he didn’t make the right choice, if he joined Voldemort’s ranks and betrayed his friends—his  _ brothers _ . 

And as much as Hermione hated it, it wasn’t her decision to make. 

And so, she did exactly what she said she would do. 

She waited. 

She bathed in the sun, snorkeled in the waves, worked at a small bookshop on the high street to earn a few galleons here and there, and up until a week ago, she watched the horizon for any sign of the man she so desperately wanted to see again. 

One week passed. Then a month, then two. And finally… she stopped looking as subtle signs of autumn began to creep into the tiny Grecian island she had called home for the past several months. 

And so, she lay under her umbrella, an open book resting on the curve of her stomach, and her arms stretched languidly above her head. The notes of a song she heard what seemed like a lifetime ago played over her lips as she hummed, listening to the sound of the waves and the shouted bargaining from the market, trying to clear her mind and—

A shadow passed over her, dark and unmoving as though a cloud were permanently blocking the warm Grecian sun, but when she opened her eyes it was as if the stars from the heavens had burst, blinding her in disbelief and awe. 

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he murmured, hands tucked carefully into the pockets of neatly tailored denims. “But, well, I’ve d—”

Hermione scrambled to her feet in an instant and she threw her arms around the man standing before her. He looked pale and gaunt and there was a dark scar along his cheek but he was—

“You’re here.” The sound of her voice was muffled against the soft cotton of his shirt as he hesitantly drew his arms around her, the cool spread of his fingers brushing the sun-warmed skin of her back and forcing a shiver over her spine. 

“I’m here,” he echoed and she could almost feel the hesitancy in his tone. 

“But…” The word came out nearly as a whisper because she didn’t want to think of any of the myriad of possibilities attached to that particular word. She pressed her cheek against his chest and inhaled the scent of him. It was something warm and comforting and made her sink into everything she felt during the week they spent together nearly three months ago. 

Hermione suspected she might have been in denial, ignoring the obvious signs of exactly who he was for several days since she was so caught up in him. She had finished mourning her accidental foray into the past and knew that there was no going forward in time, save for to catch up to oneself. And of course, the Unspeakables disagreed as to exactly how time worked and she honestly couldn’t listen to them arguing for two more hours so she’d stormed out of the Ministry and caught a Portkey to the first available destination. 

Finding her own little place off the beaten path in a world not her own had been expected, Peter had not. 

He was introspective and shy, lacking any sort of courage but he was chivalrous and daring in his own way—gaining her consent for anything they did following that first unexpected kiss. He showed how much of a gentleman he could be when he wasn’t sneaking kisses and tugging her into an alley to press her back against the stucco walls of an abandoned villa. 

The moment she realized exactly who he was, she nearly had a panic attack. She couldn’t reconcile the bedraggled man she’d watched transform at age thirteen with  _ this man _ . She’d meant every single word she’s said to him on the day she walked away. 

He needed to stand on his own and not in the shadows or at the will of others. And as hard as it was to make the decision to walk away, she knew it was something she had to do. 

And now, he was  _ here _ .

Peter’s lips brushed over the crown of her head and Hermione felt the heavy exhale of his breath over her curls. “But I don’t have much time. I need to go back.”

Her foot sunk into the sand as she took a step back, taking in each subtle ripple of muscle movement as his face shifted to a sad smile. “I don’t understand.” 

“I don’t know if I’m going to make it out of this war alive, Hermione, and I wanted to see you one last time.” A gentle breeze blew around them and tousled her curls, only for the soft sweep of Peter’s fingers to push them back away from her face once more. 

Panic crept up her throat and she wrapped a hand around his left forearm, seeking but not finding the subtle pulse of a glamour charm. “You’re unmarked.” 

He nodded, “But the Death Eaters didn’t take kindly to my refusal to join their ranks—” A derisive snort of laughter slipped from him as he gestured vaguely to the mark on his cheek, “—I’m a bit of a wanted man.” 

The hand grasping his forearm lifted and Hermione’s fingers brushed the dark line marring his cheek. He drew a sharp breath and released it on a low exhale as her hand cupped the line of his jaw, her thumb settled just at the base of the line “It was a cursed blade.” 

“Yeah, managed to fend off the magic well enough, didn’t expect the mad witch to draw a dagger on me.” 

The image of Bellatrix Lestrange’s sinister smile rose to the forefront of Hermione’s mind and her eyelashes fluttered as she forced the memory away. “I’m coming back with you.”

Peter’s hand on her hip tightened and tugged her closer until she could feel the soft muscles beneath his cotton shirt pressed against her front. His arms drew around her and he buried his face against her wild curls. “You need to stay here, where it’s safe. You’ve already been to hell and back because of them, you shouldn’t have to fight again.” 

Hermione pushed back from his embrace and stepped back, her eyes blazing, back straight and hands poised on her bikini-clad hips. “I helped defeat that madman once, Peter Pettigrew. I know how to bloody obliterate him and since obviously time doesn’t seem to be cyclical which opens up an entire realm of possibilities and... and if you think you’re going to run off and leave me here wondering if I’ll ever see you again, then you have an—”

He kissed her. 

Swept her up in his arms and silenced her blaze of glory with the hard press of his mouth against hers and she was helpless but to sink into the familiarity of the softness of his lips and the strength of his embrace. 

Her lips were swollen and her hair was mussed and her cheeks were pink by the time she pulled back and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m coming.” 

A smile swept across his mouth, just as pink and swollen as her own and Hermione’s hand slipped over his chest and landed just over the steady pulse of his heart before her other hand nudged him down so she could kiss him once more. 

“You’re a stubborn one, you know that?” Peter teased when they finally drew back from one another, Hermione’s head settling onto his chest. 

She laughed softly, eyes closing, and mind focused on the peace that filled her with the waves crashing in the background and the warmth of him wrapped around her body. “I’m glad you came back.” 

His arms tightened around her, “I wouldn’t have been able to resist them without your voice echoing in the back of my head. Without you, I think I would have been lost to them.”

The thrum of Peter’s heartbeat beneath her hand was steady and strong and she pressed her hand firmly against it, feeling the vibrations ripple over her skin as his magic briefly merged with her own. Flashes of what  _ could be _ sparked through her mind and when she opened her eyes to find his own wet with unshed tears and a hopeful smile clinging to his lips, she knew he’d seen it too. 

“You are enough, Peter Pettigrew. And I’m going to be around for a long time to remind you each and every time you forget it.” 

  
  



End file.
